


Darcy Dursley and the Adventures She Found

by Ribbet (ribbetsailor26)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (Ish-- they're still a bit predjudiced), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dursley at Hogwarts, Gen, Good Dursley Family (Harry Potter), Gryffindor, How Do I Tag, Hufflepuff, Muggleborn Character, My First AO3 Post, Ravenclaw, Slytherin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:14:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27791350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ribbetsailor26/pseuds/Ribbet
Summary: Was it his fault that the glass disappeared? Had her cousin made it happen somehow? Was this what her brother meant by Harry’s parents being strange?The most important question, however, was whether Harry were magic, too?—Darcy Dursley has lived a purposefully average life in a purposefully average family, but when her cousin discovers a new world, she somehow gets dragged along, too.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18





	1. Darcy Dursley and Her Family's Worst Nightmare

For as long as she could remember, Darcy Dursley had lived at number four, Privet Drive with a doting father, a loving mother, a rather bratty older brother, and her strange little cousin, Harry Potter. She was never quite sure why her cousin lived with them, but accepted it as fate and didn’t ponder it much.

  
She was also never quite sure why they treated their cousin so unkindly, and imagined he’d done something very horrible to deserve it. Darcy had tried asking her mother once, had simply gotten a pat and a “nothing to be concerned about, pet,” asked her father with the same result, and settled for Dudley’s response; “his mum and dad were weirdos.” This happened when Darcy was five, and both Dudley and Harry were six. Darcy then spent the next five years watching Harry very closely to try and see if he was as strange as his parents, (much to Harry’s discomfort) but got no gratification until Dudley’s eleventh birthday.

  
For his birthday, Dudley had requested they go to the zoo, and so both the Dursley children had been allowed a friend to bring along. After much difficulty and deliberation, Darcy had picked Emma King for this honour from her large group of friends she’d collected in school. She based her decision on relative popularity, basic status in the hierarchy of ten-year-old girls, and whether or not the friendship of said girl would tighten her grasp on the title of “most popular girl” in their age group. Emma was well-liked, proper, and her father was quite wealthy, so Darcy had eventually decided on her.

  
When it was discovered that Harry would have to come along on their trip, Darcy had been extremely dismayed, not wanting her friend to know about her strange cousin. She sat sulkily in the backseat on the drive over, squashed between an uncomfortable Emma, and an even more uncomfortable Harry, who hadn’t even wanted to come. Upon reaching the zoo and being pacified by an ice lolly, Darcy’s spirits picked up considerably. She then spent the next half hour or so cheerfully escorting an appreciative Emma around with Mrs. Dursley, who kept making gracious little comments about the weather, the cleverness of her daughter, and my, how very rich Emma’s father was.

  
After half an hour, it began to rain, and so the family took shelter in the reptile house. Darcy prattled off facts about the different species to her friend, and Dudley banged on the glass trying to get the critters to move while Harry stood quietly in the corner, staring at the same snake for a long time, making strange hissing noises. Darcy watched him out of the corner of her eye as she talked about the eating habits of the Madagascar Tree Boa, hoping Emma wouldn’t notice.

When the snake he was looking at lifted its head and nodded, Darcy gasped, causing Emma to look and also gasp, which drew the attention of Dudley, who immediately ran over to the snake, shoved Harry to the side, and fell into the habitat. It was only when the boa constrictor slithered away that Darcy realised the glass was missing.

  
Harry earned a long time in his cupboard for that stunt, which rather confused Darcy. Was it his fault that the glass disappeared? Had her cousin made it happen somehow? Was this what her brother meant by Harry’s parents being strange?

  
The most important question, however, was whether Harry were magic, too?

  
Darcy had known from the time she was small that there was something special inside her, something magical that would make her toys play with her and things happen the way she wanted them to. She’d hoarded this knowledge, not wanting anyone to steal the joy of her secret away from her, and upon the startling revelation that perhaps she wasn’t the only one with this magic to her, Darcy was struck with a sensation of not being alone. She wasn’t sure she liked the feeling.

  
This strangeness was continued when Harry received a letter specifically addressed to him a few weeks later. Darcy knew for a fact that this was strange because Harry had never gotten anything in the post before. When they discovered its arrival, her parents confiscated the letter, tore it up, and burned it, further cementing the importance of the letter in Darcy’s mind.

  
“Mummy,” Darcy said that evening to her mother when they were in the kitchen cleaning up supper, not long after the arrival and destruction of the letter. “Why did Harry get a letter in the post?”

  
“It was nothing to concern yourself with, Darcypie,” Mrs. Dursley told her hastily, her scouring of the dishes intensifying. “Leave it alone.”

  
“But did the letter have anything to do with Harry making the glass disappear at the zoo?” Darcy persisted, unaware of how she was both crossing a line and unequivocally right.

  
“That’s enough from you!” Mrs. Dursley cried, giving the baffled Darcy a swat. “I said leave it alone, and you will!”

  
Either luckily or unluckily, Darcy couldn’t decide, Harry got the same letter the next day, and every day after that in gradually increasing amounts until their house was flooded with letters that her parents couldn’t destroy. Before any of the children could open one, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley packed everyone into the car and drove to the seaside, where they rowed a rickety old boat to an even more rickety old shack on a tiny island, announcing that this would be their home for the foreseeable future. Darcy was understandably unimpressed by her family’s circumstances, decided that it was all an elaborate prank, and waited patiently for the punchline.

  
The punchline didn’t come in time for them to go home to her comfortable bed and non-leaky house, so Darcy prepared for a very uncomfortable night on a bed made of the back cushions of the couch set on the table, with Dudley on the couch with the remaining cushions and Harry on the floor. A storm was raging outside by this point, and it took Darcy a very long time to fall asleep between the howling wind, clapping thunder, and the swirling of her own thoughts, but she did eventually.

Sometime after midnight, Darcy was rudely awoken by the front door being blown in. Startled and scared, she fell off the table and onto the floor, then crawled beneath it, shivering.

  
Mr. Dursley ran into the room waving a shotgun, and Darcy gave a little shriek as a very large, very hairy man stepped through the empty doorway, his head nearly brushing the ceiling. Picking up the door, he put it back into its frame, and turned to Mr. and Mrs. Dursley.

  
“Couldn’t make us a cup o’ tea, could you? It’s not been an easy journey.”  
Walking over to the sofa, the man next told Dudley; “Budge up, yeh great lump.”

  
When her brother squeaked and hid behind her parents, Darcy scooted a little further forward and peered at the man, taking in his wild hair, beetle-black eyes, and his easy, unassuming manner. His eyes swept over her cowering and rested on Harry, who made him smile for some reason.

  
“An’ here’s Harry!”

  
Darcy blinked, startled, as the man continued; “Las’ time I saw you, you were only a baby. Yeh look a lot like yer dad, but yeh’ve got yer mum’s eyes.”

  
Mr. Dursley made a noise of suppressed rage, but choked out; “I demand that you leave at once!”

  
No, the giant did not want to leave, and so he stayed, made himself some tea and sausages, gave Harry a birthday cake, and explained that Harry was a wizard, that he had magic, and that he was going to a school to learn how to use it. Upon Mr. and Mrs. Dursley’s emphatic insistence that magic was bad, that they were going to stamp it out and that it was abnormal and unnatural, Darcy could feel her heart sinking.

The man, whose name was apparently Hagrid, didn’t like that one bit and flew into a rant about how wrong they were, which confused her. Hagrid then convinced Harry he was a wizard by describing a list of traits that gave Darcy an awful feeling she, too, was one. After this course of events he left with Harry, but not before giving Dudley a pig’s tail.

  
Darcy’s parents were very upset over the whole ordeal, and complained about it whenever Harry wasn’t around for the next month, which was often, because Harry mostly stayed in his room with his new owl, reading his schoolbooks. If her parents hadn’t been pounding into her head how bad and evil magic was, Darcy would have swiped one to read herself.

Because they were, she swore never to have anything to do with magic ever again and locked that part of herself up so deep inside herself that she barely felt it anymore, except for a sudden pressure that would come at times, then leave.

  
Soon enough Harry left for school, as did Dudley, and Darcy settled into her normal routine, albeit more quiet and melancholy than the rather spoiled little girl had ever been. At school she was still strategically condescending or kind to the girls her age in order to keep up appearances, but her parents definitely noticed, especially when she stopped eating as much as she used to. The pressure of holding in her magic, which she used to regularly exercise and release, was extremely detrimental to the appetite.

  
“Darcypie, popkin, you’ve been so quiet lately,” Mrs. Dursley fussed, piling more food onto her plate. “Are you feeling ill?”

  
“It was probably the scare with the m-- the m-- the you-know what,” Mr. Dursley growled, cutting his sausage with vigor. “Blasted wizards. Our Darcy has a very delicate constitution, you know, Petunia. Takes everything straight to the chest.”

  
Darcy, who habitually read ghost stories in increasing levels of hair-raising gore and ghastliness, shook her head. “I just miss Dudley.”

  
“Oh, my sweet, sensitive little girl!” Mrs. Dursley cooed. “Missing her brother.”

  
Darcy wondered how she hadn’t noticed that her mother was rather revoltingly sweet to her before, and silently continued to eat as much supper as she could stand, which wasn’t very much.

  
Darcy had always been an athletic girl despite being rather round, loving to run around and climb trees. Unfortunately, her athletic ability declined as her appetite disappeared. All too soon she was beginning to be ostracised by her former followers, the girls confused as to why she was growing so uncharacteristically quiet, thin, and weak.

The only friend who didn’t back away was Emma King, who, thankfully, remembered the day at the zoo with great fondness. Instead of the copious social engagements that once occupied the bulk of her time, Darcy began to spend more time thinking about Harry, and going over to Emma’s. Emma was delighted to have the girl all to herself after years of trying to become close with her and was very eager to occupy most of her time, so Darcy began to spend more time with the Kings than with her own family. Darcy didn’t mind this in the least, and her swiftly decreasing respect for her own parents began to redirect itself toward a growing admiration for Mrs. King, an elegant, kind woman with very dark, straight hair and a very white smile.

When she finally got up enough nerve her fourth consecutive week spending all of after school at the King apartment, Darcy tapped the lady of the house on the shoulder and asked; “Mrs. King, is it bad when someone is different than us?”

  
Mrs. King, quite liked her daughter’s quiet, inquisitive friend (whom she suspected to be rather troubled in some way). Sensing the urgency of the question, she responded after a short pause in which she thought deeply.

“No, I don’t think there is anything wrong with being different. Everyone is different, and the world would be quite boring if everyone was the same.”

  
“Then is it wrong to treat people badly when they’re different?” was Darcy’s next question.

  
Mrs. King felt a flood of sympathy for the girl. “Oh, Darcy, I know the girls are being cruel at school, but—“

  
“Oh, no,” Darcy interrupted, flushing. “I didn’t mean me at all, Mrs. King.”

  
Quite embarrassed at this point, Darcy ended the conversation and scurried off to find her friend, never bringing the topic up again.

  
And so passed the first year of Darcy’s knowledge of the magical world beyond her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Any of the lines/plot you recognise (and perhaps some you do not) belong to J. K Rowling-- I'm just borrowing them.


	2. Darcy Dursley and Her Worst Nightmare

When Harry returned home from the most magical, fun-filled year of his life thus far, he was flabbergasted by the difference in his cousin, Darcy. She could tell, because he didn’t recognise her when he first walked in the door, and only realised it was her when she said; “Hello, Harry. How was the drive?”

Darcy was certainly very changed, as she was about half the size she had been, despite all of Mrs. Dursley’s attempts to cook increasingly tantalising and fattening meals. All of the doctors employed by Mr. Dursley, who’d inspected Darcy, informed her parents that she was at a healthy weight, if just slightly under. Darcy often wondered if that “just slightly under” was what gave her dizzy spells throughout the day, and caused her to shake whenever her magic gave a particularly violent push. Eighty percent of her concentration now went into keeping a lid on it, and it showed in that she was even more quiet and withdrawn. As she noted the difference in her cousin, who seemed happier, brighter, Darcy couldn’t help feeling curious about Hogwarts (or the h-word in their house). Remembering the advice of Mrs. King, she resolved to be kinder to Harry in order to find out what had wrought this change.

Harry was suspicious of her curiosity and friendliness at first, used to his younger cousin ignoring him. But, as all love-starved people presented with kindness would, he slowly began to tell her more about the life he’d just begun. Over the next few months, as Darcy grew weaker from holding in her magic and Harry grew anxious over the silence of his friends, she heard stories about trolls, moving staircases, classes dedicated to subjects she’d never heard of, woods full of creatures she’d never even dreamed of, and most of all, the very smell of magic that resounded around the castle. This storytelling was a bit cruel to them both, to Harry because his new world was locked away in a cupboard, and to Darcy because of the figurative volcano she was keeping a lid on, but both found a strange comfort in it anyway. 

The day eventually came toward the end of the summer holidays when Darcy found herself unable to stand in order to leave her bed, and when her parents frantically hailed a doctor to look at their precious daughter, he checked her over and told them that she was simply too lazy to get up. None of the Dursleys, or even Harry, who was beginning to grow quite fond of his cousin, liked this idea very much, and so they disregarded it with a totality that was quite admirable. Mrs. Dursley personally undertook the task of helping her daughter to recover, bought a few books on nutrition, and established a food and light exercise regimen that she was positive would help her “darling Darcypie” build her strength up again. This took little to no effect, but somehow helped her to be able to walk a few steps with assistance, and so her family counted it as a victory and continued on with the regimen.

Darcy, while very weak, was still mentally active, and so she required someone to talk with her, to fetch her books, and to see to her needs. Sometimes Mrs. Dursley would fill this gap, but it was honestly a very boring job for a gossipy housewife. For the most part, Harry would be assigned Darcy duty. He didn’t mind this arrangement very much, as it kept Harry’s mind off the lack of communication from Hogwarts. Darcy was also pleased with it because it allowed her to ask more questions about the wizards, Harry, and the world he belonged to. She particularly enjoyed having him bring Hedwig into her room whenever he was busy doing other things, and she’d pet the owl through the locked bars of her cage, knowing what it felt like to be trapped.

It was July thirty-first when it happened. Harry had mumbled something to her about setting a bush on fire as he dropped Hedwig, his owl (Darcy liked to watch her during the day) and a stack of new books off in her room that morning, then scurried off to do a list of chores. Mrs. Dursley came up not long after and explained, in detail, how her evil cousin had threatened her poor brother with a magic spell and was now doing all the house chores as penance. Darcy wasn’t surprised, as this was regular behaviour in her house, although her suppressed magic gave a sharp jerk at the thought of being used. She also knew her parents would be extra touchy because of a business dinner that would be taking place that night, one which Mr. Dursley continually insisted was the most important in his career. Darcy, much to her father’s disappointment, (having an adorable, bright little girl may considerably increase his chances of a deal) was not strong enough to sit through a dinner, and so would be mentioned in a sorrowful tone and excused as an effect of her illness. 

It was a rather dull day for Darcy, with her mother wholly absorbed in cleaning, and Harry busy doing yard work. She would have settled for Dudley, even, but she could see him through the window, laughing at Harry outside and licking an ice cream. It was that day that she discovered how intelligent Hedwig was, actually, as she began reading a book about the habits of owls aloud, and, as a joke, asked the snowy owl if they were true. When Hedwig seemed to nod in agreement, that sparked a game between the two in which Darcy would state a fact, (occasionally making up one to try and trick her) and Hedwig would either agree or disagree with it. This consumed most of their day and was sufficiently stimulating, even as they moved on to a book about rats, having finished the one about owls. Eventually Harry came upstairs, dirty from working outside, and was startled with what he found upon entering the room.

“Hedwig, is it true that a rat can laugh?” Darcy was asking the owl sitting on her nightstand.

Hedwig gave a short hoot and fluttered her wings in a way reminiscent of a shrug, seemingly indicating she had no idea.

“Well, this book thinks so,” Darcy continued, turning the book around and pointing to the words. “I’m not sure you can read, but it says so right here.”

“You must be going mad,” Harry told her by way of greeting, and Darcy turned to look at him. 

“Yes, I must be, but it would be your fault for leaving me alone all day with an owl for company-- not that I don’t appreciate your time.” 

The last remark was addressed to the owl, and Hedwig gave another hoot-shrug. She didn’t mind sitting with the sick human girl, as Darcy was quieter, more respectful, and neater in habit than Harry.

“Well, I’m going to sit in my room, pretending I’m not there,” Harry said, picking up the cage. “I’d better take Hedwig, too, because Aunt Petunia said she might bring Mrs. Mason up to see you when she brings your dinner. Y’know, to invoke her pity for their poor, invalid daughter.”

“Clever parents I have, don’t I?” Darcy rolled her eyes behind her book about rats. 

“See you tomorrow, Darcy,” Harry said around a sudden smile, opening the door as quietly as he could and tiptoeing out. “Knock on the wall if you need something.”

The door was shut with a click, and Darcy settled further into the comfort of her bed, preparing for a stimulating evening reading about the lives of various animals. She had only gotten to the first page of her book about beavers when she heard a very loud, ugly sobbing coming from Harry’s room, and before she could knock on the wall to ask what was going on, the sobs eased. Slightly confused, she opened her book again, only to be startled into dropping it onto her face by a sudden barrage of very loud thuds, and a screech that sounded like Hedwig. Shooting up, she knocked on the wall.

“Harry? You alright in there?” 

No answer came, but the thudding stopped, so Darcy slowly turned away. Satisfied that she could read at last, she lifted her book. She managed to make it all of two pages before the ugly sobbing began again.

Darcy threw her book across the room and stuck her head under one of her many pillows, squeezing in onto her ears in an attempt to block out the sound. This time, the crying didn’t last as long, and when she ventured out from beneath her pillows again, it was gone. Wearily, she stared at the book across the room, wishing she hadn’t thrown it. Slinging her legs out of bed, she braced her hand on the wall and walked shakily toward where it lay by the door to her room. It took quite a while, as she could only go very, very slowly, but when Darcy eventually reached it she picked it up with a sense of pride. 

Darcy had just turned back when there was a sudden banging in the wall that separated her room from Harry’s, and she fell over in surprise, the pressure inside her giving an awful lurch. 

“All right!” she heard her cousin cry, followed by muffled words that sounded as if he were talking to someone. If she hadn’t spent the past few months constantly around him, Darcy would have thought that Harry had finally taken after his parents and gone mad. 

Too weak to stand, she suddenly regretted leaving the comfort of her bed at all. Darcy put one hand on the wall again and began to try and push herself to her feet. Once she’d finally managed to stand, Darcy had a moment’s peace before someone in Harry’s room began to yelp very, very loudly and repeatedly. 

Thundering footsteps pounded up the stairs before she heard Harry’s door open. There was a moment in which she could hear her father hissing something, then the door slammed again and Mr. Dursley stomped back down the stairs. Her curiosity won out and Darcy opened her bedroom door, wobbled two steps down the corridor and opened the door to Harry’s room only to have a small, strange creature rush past her and down the staircase, followed closely by Harry himself. She gaped after her cousin as he jumped down the last six steps and disappeared around the corner into the kitchen. 

“Well,” Darcy remarked to herself as she moved toward the staircase, lowering herself to the floor so that she could scoot down the steps. “I suppose Harry’s world is making an appearance again.”

When she was about two-thirds of the way down, there was a sudden crash of shattering glass and a loud  _ crack _ that made Darcy jump. She fell down the last three steps to land lying at the bottom of the staircase, shocked. As this was the roughest treatment Darcy had experienced in a long time, she laid there for a while before the pandemonium began. 

Screaming, her parents and the shocked dinner guests found Harry covered in pudding and Darcy lying at the foot of the staircase with her eyes shut. Darcy was swept up and set on the sofa by a frantic Mrs. Dursley, and Darcy noted that she had become a distraction while her father began to threaten Harry quietly in the kitchen. 

“My darling girl, are you alright?” Mrs. Dursley fluttered. 

With a glance at her beet-red father and the stunned Masons, Darcy smiled weakly and simpered; “Yes, mummy, I just wanted to see our guests, because they sounded  _ so _ charming and I was  _ so _ sad when I couldn’t meet them. I followed Harry down the stairs, but I was very tired… ”

With that, Darcy let her eyes flutter shut, leaning her head back in a way she knew would make her appear the most like a fragile invalid. She was well aware of the power a small, adorable girl held when used correctly, and her ploy paid off when Mrs. Mason commented on what a pretty, polite child she was, with Mr. Mason humming approvingly. Darcy’s mother patted her on the hand, and the dinner carried on with Darcy watching through her eyelashes as her parents tried to smooth everything over. It may have worked if a large owl hadn’t flown in a window, dropped a letter on Mrs. Mason’s head, and promptly flown off amid a chorus of blood curdling screams. 

The Masons left in a hurry after that, and Darcy knew with a sinking in her stomach that the following events would not be good. The thought made an awful, cold feeling creep up inside her, and the pressure within began to build again. 

“Mum,” Darcy called as her ears began to ring. “Mummy, what’s going on?”

“Shut up, brat,” Dudley hissed at her, looking nervous as shouts began to ring from the area of the kitchen, only making the anxiety for her cousin grow stronger. 

“I don’t feel well,” Darcy told him, spots dancing before her eyes as horrible images flashed through her head. “I think I may faint, Dudley.”

“You’re fine,” her brother told her.

The pressure was suddenly so sharp that her ears popped, and Darcy gave an awful scream that left the house in silence. The lights began to flicker as the force that had been pushing at her for nearly a year suddenly burst out of her. Footsteps pounded against the ground as her parents, followed closely by Harry, burst into the room, but Darcy barely noticed them as she frantically tried to leash in her magic, clutching at her head as she screamed. The flickering light bulbs burst one by one, making her family give little shrieks of their own as her mother rushed to her side and grabbed her. 

“Darcy!” Mrs. Dursley cried. “Oh, my Darcy!”

Mr. Dursley ran for the telephone as Darcy continued to scream, feeling all of the magic she’d been holding in rage through the air around her, blowing things off tables and shattering fancy dinnerware, ripping the curtains from the windows and slamming the doors of the house. Suddenly, it ceased as she was able to finally grab hold of the magic again, and Darcy went limp, all of her strength now devoted to holding the magic in once more. 

“ _ Vernon _ !” Mrs. Dursley shrieked, scrambling to her feet and running for her husband, not even pausing as she yelled; “Harry, Harry, make sure she keeps breathing, we need to get her to the hospital.”

Darcy, through her delirium, saw Harry’s pale face appear above her own. Dudley was whimpering somewhere in a corner, scared and confused. 

“Darcy,” Harry whispered. “Darcy, are you magic?”

Darcy felt a tear trickle down her cheek as she managed to whisper back; “It hurts, Harry.”

Harry, in all of his twelve years of life, had never been more conflicted. On one hand, his cousin was apparently of magical heritage like he was, which meant he wasn’t alone in their household, and he’d have someone to share Hogwarts and all of the other wonderful things with. On the other, however, Darcy’s magic seemed to be hurting her, and Harry wasn’t sure that was a good enough trade to justify the pain he saw in the creased brow of the quiet, clever girl. 

Of course, it was at that moment that the doorbell rang. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Knock knock.


	3. Darcy Dursley and the Witch

Harry, with a glance at the kitchen in which both his aunt and uncle were screaming at the phone for an ambulance, at his cousin, Dudley, who was hiding beneath the table, and at Darcy, who was curled into a ball with her eyes screwed shut, went to answer the door. Upon opening it, Harry received the third shock of what was supposed to be a quiet, uneventful evening. 

“Potter,” Professor McGonagall greeted him in her clipped, sharp way. “How are you this evening?”

“Er, lovely, Professor,” Harry answered, absolutely staggered. 

“May I come in?” The witch asked, sweeping past him, looking absurd amongst the pastels of the entryway in her dark green robes and black witch’s hat. “This house is quite a bit noisier than the last time I visited. You must have livened it up-- but what is that shrieking, Harry?”

“My aunt and uncle, Professor,” Harry led her, numbly, into the destroyed dining and living room. Dudley goggled at the witch, and Darcy was still lying on the sofa. “My cousin just collapsed. I think they’re trying to get a doctor.”

“ _What_?” McGonagall asked sharply, taking out her wand. Dudley whimpered and hid beneath the table again. “Where is she, Potter?”

Darcy opened her eyes, and lifted her head to look at the strange woman that had entered their home. 

“Harry,” Darcy’s voice was very, very soft. “Harry, I think your professor is here. Hello.”

McGonagall’s eyes fixed on the small, pale girl, concern clear in her expression. “Hello, Miss Dursley.” 

The professor came over to her side and peered into Darcy’s eyes, then muttered a few words of what sounded like Latin. The tip of what Darcy thought might be her wand lit up, and McGonagall waved it over her, seemingly checking for something. There was a loud yell, and Mrs. Dursley ran across the room toward them, her husband right behind. 

“What’re you doing?” Mr. Dursley shouted, face purple with rage. “Get away from my daughter!”

“I am checking her health,” McGonagall answered calmly. “I came to deliver this, but it seems as if your daughter has spoiled the surprise already.”

Setting her wand aside, the professor handed a white-faced Mrs. Dursley a familiar letter with a scarlet insignia on it. “Your daughter is a witch, Mr. Dursley, Mrs. Dursley, and it looks as if she has been repressing her magic. I take it from the state of the house that she has recently had an outburst?”

In the utter silence that greeted her statement, only Harry spoke up. “Yes, professor, she started screaming and everything went flying. She only calmed down a few minutes ago.”

“We need to get her to St. Mungo’s,” McGonagall waved her wand, and Darcy was lifted upward. Tucking a blanket around the girl, the professor turned to the dumbfounded Dursleys. “I need one of her guardians to come with me, we don’t have much time.”

“Vernon,” Mrs. Dursley croaked. “Vernon, I think I have to go with her.”

“No,” Mr. Dursley finally found his voice, and he stood his ground, trembling slightly. “No, we can’t trust their lot, Petunia, she’s lying. I’d rather die than trust a _witch_.”

The last word he spat like a curse, and everyone flinched back, except for McGonagall, who stared him down. She looked as if she might do something nasty, but Mrs. Dursley spoke first.

“Well, you might die, but our daughter won’t,” Mrs. Dursley said decisively, picking up her purse and striding over to the witch in the middle of the living room. “I’ll telephone when we get there. Whenever you’re ready, professor.”

Darcy felt a sudden squeezing and twisting, then she was in a crowded reception room. She faintly noticed her mother’s hand tight on her own as she was moved from the air into a stretcher amidst a barrage of noises and commotion. Someone said something about _suppressed magic_ and another mentioned _obscurial_ before being shushed, but the last thing Darcy noticed before her world faded to black was the raging sea of magic in her head. 

Darcy woke to find her mother still holding her hand, and a witch in lime green robes bustling around the room. Upon hearing her queries, the witch explained kindly to her that she was in a magical hospital, that holding in her magic had made her very, very sick, and that they were going to help her feel good again. Mrs. Dursley made no comment, much to Darcy’s surprise, and the witch left and returned with another, older witch who smiled and introduced herself as Healer Aria Boot. Darcy would see a lot of Healer Boot in the upcoming weeks, as she specialised in issues pertaining to individual magic maladies.

“We’ll start you off with some simple exercises to help you get over your block and let off some of that magic,” the witch tapped Darcy’s sternum just above the base of her ribcage. “Right now, all of your magic is pooling here and making life hard for you. We need to teach it to move around again. That won’t be easy.”

Healer Boot wasn’t kidding, but even as Darcy went through some of the biggest struggles she’d ever faced, she began to regain her strength and health. After a week or so, Darcy was able to return home. She felt much better, and the pressure had gone. It had also helped that her mother hadn’t said anything about or against magic the entire time they were there, aside from perhaps an encouragement or two whilst doing her stretches. When she returned home, the silence on the topic of magic continued. At some point during her stay in hospital, Harry had ran off, and so she didn’t have him to talk to. Darcy couldn’t decide whether that was a good or bad thing, but she didn’t mind the relative peace of her house with him gone and her family tiptoeing around her. 

The only sign she received from Harry that he was still alive was about a week after she got home, when she was in her bed and there was a tapping on her window. Darcy peered out and found Hedwig with another, rather scruffy-looking owl holding a large parcel in their claws. When she took the parcel, they left so quickly Darcy couldn’t even pet Hedwig, which wasn’t too surprising. She wouldn’t want to be caught by her family, either. 

Darcy unwrapped the brown paper to find a stack of schoolbooks and a letter from Harry. In it he told her he was at his weasel-friend’s house, and that they’d like her to come stay so that she might learn more about magic, Hogwarts, and what to expect. 

“Mr. Weasley has been talking to McGonagall, the witch who gave you your letter, and to Dumbledore, and they agree that it’s probably best if they come talk to Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon about it, so don’t say anything,” read Harry’s letter in a messy scrawl. “But they all think you should come for at least a day so that we can take you to get a wand and robes. I’ve sent you your books, we went to Diagon Alley yesterday. I hope to see you soon. Love, Harry.”

That night when Mrs. Dursley crept upstairs to check on her daughter, she found Darcy asleep amidst her schoolbooks, half of them open to various pages, and a stack of paper already crammed with notes beside her. Easing her daughter’s head and arms back so she might lie more comfortably (in the way that all mothers do), Mrs. Dursley gathered up all the books and set them beside her bed. A few of the books had a handsome man on the cover that caught her eye, but it was the pages of meticulous notes that swiftly commanded her attention, and these notes that she brought downstairs with her to show her husband. She found Mr. Dursley where he always liked to be on a weekday evening— by the fireplace (electric fireplace, of course, it was newly installed) with the sports section of the paper, and a cup of tea. 

“Vernon,” she said (for they did not, after all, refer to each other as Mr. and Mrs. Dursley). “I have just come from checking on our darling Darcykins.”

Mr. Dursley grunted, too much absorbed by the rugby scores and what a rather sharp-tongued critic had to say on them to give his wife more than half his attention. “Excellent. How is our dear girl?”

“Getting better,” Mrs. Dursley set the papers of notes on the table next to his tea, and Mr. Dursley glanced over out of instinct before going back to his paper. “I found her asleep with all her schoolbooks on her bed, and all these pages of notes.”

“She’s always been so clever,” Mr. Dursley chuckled, nodding his head in a mannishly approving way. “Becoming hobby for a young lady, studying is. Good, good.”

Mrs. Dursley blinked, a little taken aback, but tried again. “I think Harry must have sent them to her, dear. I don’t know how else she would have gotten them.”

Comprehension dawned like a house catching fire as Mr. Dursley realised precisely what sort of schoolbooks Darcy had been studying, and finally set his paper down. 

“There’s been no packages in our post,” he said. 

Mrs. Dursley shook her head. “He wouldn’t send them through the post, dear.”

Mr. Dursley cursed, face turning more red and mottled than usual. “I knew raising that orphan brat would only bring trouble. He corrupted her with his strangeness— there’s no way she’s going to _that_ school!”

Picking up the notes from the coffee table, Mrs. Dursley presented them to her husband. “Before you say anything more on the matter, you should read what she’s been writing.”

Snatching the papers away from his wife in a more rude manner than which she was accustomed to being treated by him, Mr. Dursley began to read. In a fine hand that gave him a moment of father’s pride to see, Darcy had written page upon page of things she wished she could show her family, that she thought they would like to hear about if they weren’t so strongly inclined against all things to do with magic. One particular line scribbled in the margin read; “I hope that I will be permitted, at least, to keep the books, but if not, I will hide these notes and read them occasionally.”

Mr. Dursley looked toward his wife to find her looking down at her hands. 

“Well,” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “We needn’t have any more, erm, outbursts— that would irritate the neighbours.”

Dudley found his parents at the dining table the next morning, both still in their dressing-robes, avidly reading from books with a very handsome blonde man on the cover that winked and smiled charmingly at him. A few more books with similar titles and covers were sprawled across the table, and Dudley looked from them, to his parents, and back again, struggling to come up with an explanation for this eccentric and out of character behaviour. The only thing his muddled brain could truly come up with was possession by malevolent entities, but he thought perhaps he’d been reading too much from Darcy’s collection of horror novels. 

“Good morning,” came a voice from behind him, and Dudley jumped, then turned around to see Darcy coming in from the kitchen with a plate of toast and sausages. 

“There’s more food in the kitchen,” she continued blithely, as if their parents hadn’t gone completely mad. “I made some breakfast, Mum and Dad seemed to be rather absorbed.”

The doorbell rang, and Darcy handed her plate to Dudley who stared at her uncomprehendingly.

“You may eat that if you like,” she said. “I believe this is for me.”

Darcy brushed off her clothes, neatened her hair, and marched over to open the door. Standing outside was the witch Harry had called McGonagall, whom Darcy remembered only vaguely amongst the blur of the night her magic had erupted. Beside her stood a tall, thin man with balding, bright red hair that almost seemed to glow in its sheer redness. This man Darcy assumed to be Mr. Weasley, by Harry’s description of his fascination with ‘muggles’ (he was peering at the doorbell and muttering about something that sounded like ‘eclecticity’) and by the promise that he would come to explain to her parents their plan. 

“Good morning, Miss Dursley,” said McGonagall. “May we come in?”

“Of course,” Darcy opened the door wider and stepped back to grant them entry, watching them with an analytical gaze that rather surprised the professor. “Harry wrote that you might be coming— wait here a moment, and I’ll go get my parents.”

There was a bit of a scuffle and flurry of noise in the next room over, accompanied by a few hurried whispers before Mr. and Mrs. Dursley finally appeared (yes, in their dressing-robes). Darcy followed close behind, much less flustered than her parents seemed to be, and Dudley peeked out from around the safety of the wall dividing the parlour from the front entry. 

“Good morning,” Mr. Dursley stuck out his hand rather violently toward neither one in particular, only to have it shaken rather enthusiastically by Mr. Weasley. 

“Good morning!” Mr. Weasley said eagerly, still shaking his hand. “I’m Arthur Weasley. I’m sure Harry has mentioned I might be stopping by?”

When her parents only stared at the wizard blankly, her mother in almost morbid fascination, her father as if he wished Mr. Weasley would stop shaking his hand, Darcy stepped forward and offered her most practiced little-girl smile. 

“Hello, Mr. Weasley,” she said, then nodding toward McGonagall, added; “Professor. Harry wrote briefly that you may come when he sent me my school books.”

Mr. Weasley finally stopped shaking Mr. Dursley’s hand, and smiled back at her (the intended and most usual result of her little-girl smile). “Hello! You must be Darcy. Harry’s told us all about you— my daughter, Ginny, will be in your year at Hogwarts. I’m sure you two will be good friends, I can tell that you’ll get along.”

“How lovely,” Mrs. Dursley clutched her husband’s arm, but, with a glance at her daughter, persisted. “Why don’t you all come sit in the parlour?”

“Thank you,” said McGonagall, looking rather surprised to be invited in. 

They all went and sat in the parlour. It was silent for a moment, as everyone stared at each other— a witch, a wizard, two adults in dressing-robes, and a small girl. It was Darcy who broke the silence. 

“Harry said that you wished for me to come and stay?” 

Mr. Dursley oriented his mouth at that, seeming as if he were to make a strong objection to the idea, but with a look at his wife, shut it again. McGonagall gave him a searchi mg glance before she responded. 

“That is correct,” she took off her tall, pointed hat and set it on the coffee table. “As I’m sure you are well aware, Miss Darcy Dursleyis a witch, and has been invited to attend Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I trust you have read the letter I gave you during our last meeting?”

“I don’t think they have, yet,” Darcy glanced at her parents. 

“Well,” McGonagall gave a slight smile. “It was rather an exciting evening, so I suppose that makes sense. I’m pleased to see that you look well, Miss Dursley.”

“Thank you,” said Darcy, only slightly embarrassed. 

“You mentioned that Mr. Potter has sent you your books?” At Darcy’s nod, McGonagall glanced toward Mr. Weasley, then fixed her gaze on Mr. and Mrs. Dursley. She drew a long, thin stick out of one of her large sleeves, and waved it so that a piece of paper flew into the room and set itself down on the coffee table. “If you will refer to the list of recommended supplies, you will see that Miss Dursley has need for school robes, and a wand. These are best obtained in person, and normally we would have a member of staff go with the student and parents to Diagonal Alley, and aid them in finding these items. However, the Weasleys have kindly offered to take her, and invited her to come and stay to learn more about the magical world.”

“We’re happy to have her for just the afternoon,” Mr Weasley said cheerfully. “Or until term begins, however long you wish. We just love Harry, and we’d be delighted to have your daughter come to stay as well.”

Mr. Dursley mumbled something like ‘ _so that’s where he is!’_ and Mrs. Dursley fidgeted with the tie on her dressing-robe. 

“I would like that.” Darcy tried not to sound too eager, but gave her parents a look, trying to gauge their reaction. 

“Perhaps,” Mrs. Dursley said, after seeing Darcy’s face. “Perhaps for a few days…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gasp


	4. Darcy Dursley and the Many Redheads

The Burrow was strange, and not at all what she’d grown up thinking a proper house should look like. It was a tall, crooked house that seemed rather run-down and had (in Darcy’s opinion) far too many chimneys. The utter alienness of the house was only strengthened when a veritable herd of redheads (and Harry) poured out the front door to greet her. The leader of this ginger flock was a short, slightly plump woman with kind brown eyes and a face creased in smile-lines, who immediately tucked her into the tightest hug she’d ever had the misfortune of receiving.

“Let her breathe, dear,” said Mr. Weasley dryly, and to Darcy’s relief, she was released.

“Welcome to the Burrow!” cried the woman, whom she assumed to be Mrs. Weasley. “We’re so pleased to have you here, Harry’s been so worried about you--”

Everyone turned to look at her cousin, who reddened.

“-- but you’re here now, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Darcy agreed. “I am.”

“Come in, come in, lunch is on the table.” Mrs. Weasley bustled back toward the house, calling over her shoulder; “You lot, help Darcy with her things!”

Mr. Weasley nodded politely, then wandered after his wife, leaving Darcy with the horde of Weasley children, and her cousin. 

“Hi, Harry,” Darcy glanced around, feeling a bit pensive, but focused on her cousin. “Thanks for sending me my books.”

“Oh,” Harry looked a little surprised. “Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon didn’t give you any trouble for it?”

“No, they didn’t mind. I think they’re rather fond of the Lockheart fellow.”

Harry blinked, eyes round behind his spectacles. “What?”

The redhead who looked to be about Harry’s age muttered something to his brothers, and they snickered, only to be silenced by a glare from the eldest, who then turned and stormed back toward the house.

“Will you introduce me to your friends?” Darcy prompted, eyes following the boy on his way to the house, then fixing back on her cousin.

Harry shifted on his feet, seeming to snap out of his confused daze. As he glanced back at the group of Weasley children, his face almost seemed to brighten, as though he was thinking of something pleasant. Darcy didn’t often see a look of the sort on his face (usually only when he spoke of Hogwarts, or his parents), and she found it curious that just looking at the herd of gingers would enact that change of expression.

“This is Ron,” Harry nodded toward the boy that seemed about his age. “Fred and George are the twins, then that’s Ginny--”

The girl flushed when Harry said her name, a fact that did not go unnoticed, and that Darcy filed away for future reference. 

“-and Percy’s the one who went inside.”

Ron squinted at her. “Did you really faint because you saw a house elf?”

They all turned to look at him, but he didn’t seem to notice. Darcy blinked, then turned to swap looks with Harry, only to find him also looking curious, but slightly nervous.

“Oh,” she said. “Right. You left while I was in hospital-- you wouldn’t know.”

“ _ The food is getting cold, but I don’t see anyone in my kitchen! _ ” came Mrs. Weasley’s call, and they all jumped.

“Best not to-”

“-keep her waiting,” The twins remarked, turning and starting off for the house.

Harry and Ron followed them, leaving Darcy alone with the only girl-- Jenny, or something of the sort. She looked less nervous now that Harry had gone, and she fixed Darcy with a searching stare.

“We should probably get your things inside.” 

She took one handle of Darcy’s trunk, and Darcy took the other. They lifted it together, and walked it toward the house.

“I’m Darcy.”

The girl looked at her again, and smiled. “I’m Ginny. My brothers are a bit much, aren’t they?”

Darcy, to her surprise, found herself genuinely smiling back. “Your whole family is a bit much, to be honest.”

“Say the word,” Ginny tipped her head toward the gate as they stepped into the house and set the trunk on the floor. “And I’ll make an excuse to take you down to the creek-- the only person who really goes there aside from me is Luna Lovegood, but she’s quiet enough.”

“I may take you up on that.” Darcy wasn’t sure how much better a muddy creek would be than being bombarded by this rather strangely enthusiastic family, but she was glad to have a potential escape planned.

The girls made their way through the whimsical furniture and piles of unusual toys and books with titles unlike any Darcy had ever seen. Everything from the softly glowing orbs providing light to the broom sweeping the floor in the corner was so utterly foreign, it seemed like something out of a Disney movie. The kitchen was equally strange, with a big, sturdy table set with mismatched dishes and an old, scorched-looking wood-fire stove-oven that had fluorescent blue flames instead of yellow and shovelled in its own wood. The majority of the Weasley family was seated around the table, already, sparks of bright orange amidst the earthy, warm tones of the home around them. 

Ginny slipped into a seat with the ease of one who always sits in the same place, and, as the other option was to sit between the suspiciously smirking twins and the sour-faced eldest brother, Darcy sat beside her. Suddenly, things began to fly over her head to rest on the table, and she stiffened, avoiding the urge to shriek as she was nearly hit by first a meat pie, then a dish of potatoes. Everything else (much to Darcy’s relief) stayed well away, but those two close encounters left her reeling and slightly dazed by the utter unfamiliarity of it all. No respectable family she had ever met had nearly taken their guests’ heads off with a lunch item. 

“Eat up!” Mrs. Weasley dropped into the seat between the twins and the eldest son, calmly flicking her wand in order to deflect the spoonful of peas launched at said son by said twins. “There’s plenty here, no need to only feast with your eyes.”

“Smells excellent, dear,” Mr. Weasley murmured, nose buried in a newspaper full of articles with strange titles and moving pictures. 

A tureen of soup on little china legs nudged Darcy’s elbow, and she blinked at it for a moment before it sighed in exasperation and stalked off to bother someone else. 

“It’s upset that no one wants any,” explained Ron helpfully. “Don’t pay any mind, it’s a lousy old tureen anyway.”

The tureen spat soup at him for that. Rolling her eyes, Mrs. Weasley rapped it sharply with a spoon, and it scuttled to hide behind the rolls. 

“So,” Harry said, looking about as confused as Darcy felt from the escapade with the rowdy soup tureen. “What did happen to you? That night, with the lights and McGonagall.”

Darcy poked at the food on her plate for a moment, considering what to say. “The healers at St. Mungo’s said that it was a magical outburst caused by distress and buildup from suppression.”

Ron frowned. “What?”

“It was a burst of magic—“

“No,” he cut her off, shaking his head. “I got what you said— but what were you suppressing your magic for?”

There was a lurch in her chest, not unlike the feelings she used to have whenever Harry would tell her about the magical world. Darcy looked over to Harry, who had understanding eyes, then stared resolutely down at her lap. She knew that she would not cry, as she had no reason too, but felt as if she may anyway. 

“None of your business, Ron,” Ginny piped up unexpectedly, not even flushing when Harry looked directly at her (no small achievement, and one that made Darcy feel strangely touched). 

“What’s none of his business?” Mrs. Weasley asked, glancing back down the table from her conversation with her husband and son. 

“Nothing,” Ron and Harry said in unison.

“Ron asked Darcy why she was suppressing her magic, mum,” Ginny shot a glare in his direction. “I was telling him to nose out.”

Mr. Weasley looked up sharply at that, and exchanged a glance with his wife, one that did not go unnoticed by Darcy, who felt increasingly uncomfortable. 

“Quite right,” Mr. Weasley folded his paper and set it on the table next to his plate, an action that did not happen often, if Darcy was guessing correctly from the way everyone immediately looked toward him. “That is a very personal, private matter, Ron. It’s not to be taken lightly, and Darcy is under no obligation to answer you.”

“Isn’t that how Obscurials are made? When an underaged witch or wizard suppressed their magic?” One of the twins asked, and everyone looked at him in surprise. 

Mrs. Weasley was visibly shocked. “How do you know that word?” 

“Defence Against the Dark Arts,” said the twins in unison. The eldest boy looked as though he didn’t believe them, but said nothing. 

“Yes,” Mr. Weasley peered at his sons closely through his spectacles, mouth quite straight and serious. “That is how Obscurials come to be— when the suppressed magic becomes Dark, and lashes out. Most of the time, the host would die before the age of ten. It is very fortunate that has not happened in a long time.”

No one said anything more on the topic for the rest of the meal. 

As Darcy and Ginny carried her things up the many flights of stairs to Ginny’s room, Darcy said; “I thought they might not love me anymore, if they knew.”

“Who?”

“Nothing. Could you show me the creek after this?”

Ginny’s eyes gleamed. “Of course— you’ll love it.”

Out of everything she’d seen so far, the creek was the most magical to Darcy, something that seemed to almost surprise Ginny. Far from the muddy, boggy nightmare she’d been picturing, the creek was quite clear and deepened enough that Darcy could stand in the middle with the water up to her chest. Rather than dirt and sand, it was lined with many, small smooth pebbles, and little silver minnows darted in and out of the shallows, basking in the sun. Magical and Non-Magical water life alike could be found in this little pocket of quiet and life away from the raucous calamity of the Burrow. For the first time since her magic had erupted on that horrible night, Darcy felt almost normal. 

“My mum will think I’ve pushed you in and ruined your dress,” Ginny laughed from the safety of the shallows, where she was bathing her feet, her shoes and socks in a pile next to Darcy’s neat stack of her own footwear and cardigan. 

“It’ll dry,” Darcy said dismissively, holding very still as she watched a creature she’d never seen before flit around her feet. “What’s this thing called again?”

“A plimpy,” Ginny sat down on a wide, flat rock perfectly placed to be a convenient seat for the average foot-bather. “It may nip at your toes, though, so be careful.”

“Ouch!”

“Told you.”

Darcy frowned after the plimpy as it darted away, scared off by her sudden movement. “Now it’s gone, and I’ll have to wait forever for it to come back.”

Ginny shrugged. “We can always come back tomorrow, it’ll probably be over it by then.”

“Yes,” came another voice. “They don’t have very good memories.”

Ginny turned and smiled. “Hello, Luna.”

Darcy scrambled out of the creek to stand dripping on the shore, barefoot, her dress wet up to her chest, and the ends of her hair draggly from being in the water. Looking at the girl that had seemed to quite suddenly fade into existence on the pebbly beach, Darcy actually found herself grateful for her state of disarray. Wearing shoes, neat hair and tidy clothes would have seemed dreadfully overbearing and frumpy next to this new person, with her faded pinafore and paint-splattered blouse, her long, dirty blonde hair crowned with a wreath of strangely shimmery leaves and set off by bottle-cap hairpins.

“Hello,” Luna said, her large, blue eyes trailing dreamily past Darcy to fix on the redhead still sitting on a rock in the creek. “You’ve brought a friend.”

Ginny nodded and stood, making her way carefully to the dry rocks to stand by them. “Yes, this is Darcy Dursley. Darcy, this is Luna Lovegood, she lives on the other side of the creek and over the hill.”

“How do you do?” Darcy asked politely.

Luna looked back at her. “Do you often go swimming in your clothes?”

Ginny laughed, and, to her own surprise, Darcy did, as well. From any other person this would have been a challenge, but from this strange girl it seemed to be a note on a new creature, like the ones Darcy filled her diaries with. She supposed she  _ was _ a new creature, in a way. 

“Not too often,” Darcy wrung the ends of her hair out and began to squeeze the skirt of her dress, trying to get it to stop dripping so much. “I just saw a pompey in the water and had to get closer.”

“Plimpy,” Ginny corrected. “Darcy’s a muggleborn, she’s not seen one before.”

“How strange,” Luna tilted her head, and the crown of leaves dangled precariously, only held on by the bottle caps. 

Darcy shrugged. “I suppose so. Do you often find magical creatures like this?”

“Yes,” Luna nodded fervently. “There are many magical creatures to find, if you care to look for them."

Ginny squinted at the sun, which was beginning to dip lower in the horizon, washing the clouds in the pink-orange hue of the dawning summer sunset. “We’d best get back, Darcy, or Mum’ll have our heads. Bye, Luna.”

“Goodbye,” said the girl in return.

As Darcy began the long, wet trek back to the Burrow with all its chaos and redheaded-ness, she thought for the first time that perhaps she wouldn’t mind being a witch, after all, if she could study more animals like the plimpies, and meet more people like Ginny and Luna. She may actually enjoy it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always have a horrible feeling that I'm spelling Weasley wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Any of the lines/plot you recognise (and perhaps some you do not) belong to J. K Rowling-- I'm just borrowing them.


End file.
